


found family is the best family

by yeeharley



Series: The Many Adventures of Spiderfam and Irondad [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: And he's a Dad don't try to convince me otherwise, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Minor Angst, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, She's such a mom, Tony Stark Has A Heart, ah that good old found family trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeeharley/pseuds/yeeharley
Summary: Natasha and Tony don't notice that Peter's fallen asleep until they get stuck at a stoplight in the middle of Manhattan, ask him what he wants to do now that he's out of school (and on a three-day suspension, even though Morita had called it a break), and don't get an answer. Tony, who's focused almost entirely on an article about how to deal with traumatized children, leaves Natasha to deal with him.She's better with kids anyway.Even though she doesn't act like she likes them.Natasha immediately moves to prod Peter awake, gently poking the shoulder of his jacket before moving to flicking him on the nose. They're non-threatening movements, because she knows he's in a fragile state of mind and has no interest in dealing with a violent kid while in the conflicts of the back seat of a car. No time for disasters today."Peter," she coos, furrowing her brow when Peter doesn't even stir. "Pe-ter, wake up."No response. A quiet snore escapes his lips and his head lolls to one side, bumping up against the window.(Natasha and Tony realize that, along with May, they might've become two of the new parental figures in Peter's life.)
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanoff, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: The Many Adventures of Spiderfam and Irondad [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601086
Comments: 31
Kudos: 360





	found family is the best family

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is the second installment in my Spiderfam+Irondad series, inspired by ChangedLater's comment on I'll be the stone that you need me to be. I'm really hoping to delve further into Natasha and Peter's relationship because of her past trauma involving losing the ability to have a child and Peter's past trauma of losing his parental figures.
> 
> This fic is posted in honor of the trailers d23 released yesterday! Who else is excited about the upcoming series? 
> 
> I would advise reading the first fic in this series to understand some of the references, but it isn't necessary. 
> 
> If you have any ideas for the next few fics in this series, from angst to fluff or whatever, fee free to comment them or send me an ask on my tumblr: [silver-bubbles.tumblr.com](https://silver-bubbles.tumblr.com/)
> 
> As usual, thank you for your support! <3

Natasha isn't oblivious to _anything_ , and she doesn't think she ever has been at any one point in her life. It's something she's mildly proud of- her ability to know what she is, what she wants, when she wants it, and how she needs to get it. And she doesn't like the feeling of not understanding things that she's dealing with.

So when Peter Parker starts to show up more in her life- in Tony's workshop, in the main living area of Stark Tower, on the couch when she wants to watch Parks and Rec, she has to really reconsider the things that are going on in her head.

It isn't necessarily a _bad_ thing, having the kid become a constant part of her day-to-day work, but it's confusing enough for her to be frustrated. She's never cared about a kid like this; come to think of it, she's never cared about _anybody_ like this.

And he's a _freaking child._

The first thing that Natasha and the other Widows had learned in the Red Room (well, the first thing after how to kill a man and hide his body) was that families were an unnecessary and useless part of life and that having children, however other women managed to romanticize it, was overrated. She had never found anything argue with about that- children were snotty little gremlins who didn't seem to serve a purpose.

When a woman married a man and had a child, she was tied down and saddled with motherhood in the prime of her life. This was just another tactic to control them and had been enough to convince Natasha that she would never involve herself with anything of the sort.

But _God,_ Peter was so different.

Yeah, he's a kid, but he's not snotty or needy or annoying or any of the things she's come to associate with children. And if she really thinks about it, he's what? Fifteen, sixteen? On the cusp of adulthood.

_Well,_ Natasha decides the minute she finds him in Tony's kitchen, spraying water out of his nose, _I can probably tolerate this one. Just this one, though._

⌖

Tony doesn't like kids. He's never wanted them, never thought of having them, never had any desire at all to involve himself with any children whatsoever. Infants are whiny. Toddlers are awful. That age where they're eight and nine and ten and eleven and twelve is the single most _annoying_ thing ever because they all think they're _so cool_ and _so old_ and they wear twinkle toes.

What's with twinkle toes, anyway? Light up shoes are terribly ineffective and don't seem to carry any value at all. They don't even glow bright enough to be used as flashlights.

Anyway, after the _cool_ stage, they turn into teenagers, and then adults, and that's when they're finally tolerable. But the years before? No, thank you. Tony wants no part of that.

_And it doesn't have anything to do with how awful Howard was as a dad and every single insecurity he has about ruining a child's mental state and future, Rhodey, shut up_.

But Peter is different. He's quiet, noble, calm- an all-around okay kid. Sure, he's a teen.

He doesn't listen to everything and tends to shun all authority except for May's (which is slightly annoying, but she _is_ his aunt, so Tony probably has to tolerate it).

May and Ben got him through the awkward stages, and he seems to have turned out all right. There will always be those annoying little quirks, but _hell_ , Tony has quite a few of those himself. Pepper and Happy haven't killed him (yet) so he can't really complain about Peter.

And compared to some of the other teenagers Tony's met? Peter's an absolute saint, disregarding the ferry incident.

And the Vulture incident.

And the space doughnut incident.

And the hacking-his-suit incident.

And the ignoring him on Titan incident.

And the-

Well, everybody has flaws.

The point is, Tony knows how lucky he's gotten. Spider-Man could be some obnoxious little brat from the richer boroughs with an agenda and unhealthy obsessions, but he's not. He's a selfless kid from Queens. His only agenda is to help. And, as for unhealthy obsessions... everybody loves Star Wars.

⌖

Natasha knows that, if it wasn't for Peter, she wouldn't be allowed within a three-hundred-foot radius of Stark Tower. Scratch that- she'd probably be in prison. So, logically, she _also_ knows that she should be very grateful and should hold him in a higher respect.

But, as she watches him stuff pipe cleaners up the faucet of the same kitchen that she first met him in, Natasha realizes that he reminds her of Clint much too much to be respected at all.

"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty- _one_ ," Peter mutters, shoving yet another blue pipe cleaner into the already-packed tube. " _Thirty-two_ \- hey, Nat, how many of these do you think I can fit?"

Natasha looks up from her book, raising her eyebrows in an attempt to make it look like she hasn't been paying rapt attention, and shrugs. "Looks full, Peter."

The kid brushes a stray curl away from his forehead and grins ear-to-ear. "Trust me, Nat, it's not. Gimme a number."

"Eighty-nine."

_Might as well see where this goes and appease him_.

(No, she's not at all curious to find out how many neon-blue pipe cleaners can fit in a sink faucet. What makes you think that?)

Peter snickers and shakes his head before pulling a ruler out of his ever-present backpack. "That's weak. I did the measurements-" he demonstrates by measuring the diameter of the faucet, "-and the area is exactly one and a half square inches. Pipe cleaners are tiny. I can fit _so many of these bad boys_ in here."

He snickers again, obviously impressed at his own genius, and Natasha has to stifle a laugh.

"You know memes?"

"I know memes," she says, flipping her book over with a deadpan glare. "Very well. Trust me."

Peter's eyes widen comically and his lips part, expression blank as if his entire worldview is changing before his eyes. " _Black Widow knows memes,"_ he whispers, smiling to himself. " _Wow."_

And with that, he goes back to stuffing pipe cleaners up the faucet, humming quietly and counting to himself as he goes. Natasha can't help it- it's a terribly real scene, and it fills her with a warm feeling that makes it impossible to hide her smile.

_(The answer is three hundred and seventeen.)_

⌖

Peter can proudly say that he's never been in a fight at Midtown- or any other school he's ever attended, really- and that's saying something, because it's an insanely competitive school and student tensions run high. Michelle's been in fights, Abe from decathlon's been in fights, Flash (obviously) has been in fights.

But he has a clean record, and he's perfectly happy with that. Never in his wildest dreams would he have ever expected to get into an actual _fight_ , especially with Spider-Man on his side.

_No winning streak lasts forever_.

Peter finds that out on a Wednesday, right before his third period AP Physics class, when he's collecting his books from his locker. It's the only class he doesn't share with Ned, who has AP Biology, so he has to pick up his things and get to class alone.

Thankfully, Flash is in AP Biology with Ned, so Peter doesn't have to put up with _him_ either.

He unlocks his locker and pulls out his Physics books, which probably weigh more than the rest of his course load combined, and shoves them into his empty backpack with a water bottle and a granola bar to eat under his desk (the Spider-Man metabolism is no joke, and he's dealt with accidentally skipping lunch and seriously regretting it later).

It happens right then, completely unexpected, and Peter knows that if he wasn't the way he is now, it wouldn't matter. It's just that the fist on the back of his shirt feels like an attacker and the dropping of someone's textbook sounds too much like a gunshot, and then he's in the streets in his suit, fending off another villain to try and save his city for the hundredth time.

He doesn't realize what's happening until a teacher pulls him off of some other student with a bloody nose that he sees through the cloudy haze in his mind. Flailing fists slow and drop to his sides as everything recedes, leaving him with the realization that there's an unconscious kid at his feet and he doesn't even know who he is.

_He was just trying to scare you_.

The sobs come without warning, bursting out of his eyes and spilling down his face. Somewhere in the depths of Peter's brain, firing synapses connect three simple thoughts- _he didn't mean it, you're not in danger, and you hurt him._

Peter Parker, Spider-Man, hero of Queens, protector of the little guy, and a _dropped book_ was enough to set him off enough to make him break a kid's nose. Control is one of the most important things he has- one of the _only_ things he has- and he's let himself go so easily that it takes next to nothing to break a solid exterior.

The kid's coming to, groaning and reaching up to hold his nose. Blood drips down his lips and onto the linoleum floor of the hall, splattering like pain and forming little rivulets in the seams between tiles. Foggily, Peter realizes that there are hands clenched around his elbows and wrists- too many for there to only be one person holding him. One of them is talking to him quietly, trying to convince him to move, telling him that he has to go down to the office, but he can't seem to find the strength to move. 

There's no struggle, but he just _can't_.

So he stands there, in the middle of the hallway, with a puddle of blood at his feet- _when had they moved the other boy?_ \- and cries, and cries, and cries.

Peter blinks, and he's sitting in a cushioned chair outside of the principal's office, his knees tucked up to his chest and a teacher on each side of him. He doesn't know how he got there, or when the tears stopped. His face is sticky and he can taste salt. 

The teachers- Mister Harrington and Miss Benett- don't look angry or afraid of him (not that he can deduce much from their expressions, considering how blurry his eyes are). If he didn't know better, he'd think that they pitied him.

But why should he be pitied? He's not the one who got hurt. For once in his life, Peter is the aggressor. 

_And he doesn't like it._

Mister Harrington, clearly sensing that Peter is once again (mostly) mentally present, turns in his seat to give him a look that he can't quite identify. It sends chills down his spine, though, because he's been the one to _give_ that look so many times.

_They don't pity him._

_There's no way they actually pity him._

"You alright over there, Peter?" Mister Harrington asks, ignoring the unimpressed look Miss Benett shoots him. "Awake?"

Peter nods, but he honestly isn't totally sure that he's awake. Everything is numb, covered in a thick fog, and he can't fight through it enough to do more than nod an affirmation.

Mister Harrington nods too. It's awkward at best.

"Mark talked to his parents and they've decided not to press charges," he continues, jerking his head at the closed door of the principal's office. "He says he understands why you reacted like that and he probably would've done the same thing."

At that, he falls silent. Peter studies his face; it's clear that his teacher is waiting for an answer.

He doesn't give him one.

So they sit in silence for a few more minutes- or maybe it's hours; Peter's almost completely sure that the passage of time is moving around him. Seconds blur together like cloudy paint.

The door to the principal's office opens and four people step out. The first, Peter almost doesn't recognize; with the gauzy bandage over his nose, he doesn't look like the same person he'd been in the hallway. This is Mark, then- the kid he'd beat up.

_Peter hadn't even known his name._

Mark's eyes widen when he sees Peter in the seat. Peter shrinks back, expecting him to lash out, but instead of stepping away, Mark pushes past Miss Benett's outstretched arm and pulls Peter into a tight hug. A jolt of surprise shoots through his middle, and through teary eyes, he can see Mark's parents smiling sadly at each other.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, bowing his head against Mark's shoulder to try and avoid the sight of what looks like a broken nose. "I didn't mean-"

"I know," Mark says, in a voice like honey. "I know you didn't."

They don't say anything else. For a few minutes, the two boys stay there, Peter's head on Mark's shoulder, Mark's arms wrapped around Peter's chest. The parents and teachers don't say anything until Principal Morita calls out from his office, clearing his throat like he feels ignored, and Mark has no choice but to let go.

He leaves sadly, smiling over his shoulder, and then Peter is alone again.

"C'mon," Mister Harrington says, planting a hand on Peter's shoulder and helping him up. "Let's get this taken care of."

⌖

There are three people in the office when Peter steps inside. Morita's behind the desk, fingers tented in a clear I-Mean-Business pose, one eyebrow quirked. If it was just Peter and him, he doesn't know what he'd do.

But it's not.

The other two don't work at Midtown- they don't work normal jobs at all. Tony looks like he's about to pass out from caffeine withdrawal, hands gripping a steaming mug of coffee. A woman sits beside him, red hair pulled back into a neat bun, a purse clutched in manicured fingers.

Why the _hell_ is Natasha Romanoff at a parent-teacher meeting?

"N-Nat?" Peter stutters, eyes wide, as his two... visitors? Is that what they are? They're certainly not his parents, and they're not his guardians. That honor belongs solely to May.

Natasha purses rose pink lips (about eighteen shades lighter than her usual red, giving her a much more demure, predominantly _feminine_ look than normal). Peter absently wonders if she'd planned that, if she'd planned everything from her shoes to her hairstyle in keeping with the occasion.

It must be a spy thing.

"Peter," she says. Her tone is decidedly neutral, but Peter knows when she's concerned; he's been the subject of that concern more times than he can count. "Are you alright?"

_Is_ he alright?

_No_ , he decides. _He is very much not alright. And he shouldn't be the one garnering all this sympathy, because he's the one who punched a kid. He's not hurt._

And he's _so tired_ of being the orphaned charity case.

"I'm fine," he mutters, taking the empty seat between Tony and Natasha and folding his hands in his lap. His index finger is very interesting- the third knuckle specifically- and he busies himself immediately, rubbing the skin with his thumb. He can feel the adults looking at him.

He doesn't look up.

"Can we at least ask why we're here?" Tony asks, taking a long sip from the mug in his hands, voice saturated with false kindness. "I have things to do back at the tower."

Peter sinks low in his chair, because _of course_ he's bothering Tony when he's busy. He could've just taken care of himself, really. He could've waited for May to get off of work.

Natasha rests her hand on his elbow, rubbing careful circles into his skin, and shoots Tony a glare. "We just wanted to make sure Peter was okay. His aunt's at work and couldn't get off of work," she says," and we had _nothing_ better to do."

She's just trying to comfort him, but it still feels good.

Principal Morita leans his elbows on the table and looks at Peter through sad eyes, peering over the golden plaque on his desk. "Miss... Rushman?"

Natasha nods.

"And Mister Stark, of course," he continues, receiving a halfhearted wave from Tony in return. "I'm grateful you could make time to come down and help us settle this little issue, and I'm terribly sorry that we had to pull you out of work."

The billionaire nods and drains his cup.

"All we heard was that Peter had been in a fight," Natasha (Rushman?) says. "And that we needed to be down here immediately. I assume the young man you'd been with prior to our arrival was the other boy?"

Principal Morita nods. 

"Mark Esposito and his parents. They've made the decision not to press charges."

"May I ask why?"

He sighs, steepling his fingers. "It's come to our attention that the attack was triggered mainly by... past trauma." The principal sighs. "Mister Esposito had no intention of scaring Mister Parker as badly as he did and understands that, considering his past, it's understandable that his reaction was... violent."

Peter flinches. He knows what Principal Morita's thinking about- Ben. The entire faculty is well aware of the fact that Peter was there when he died, even if they don't know the exact circumstances. They know _how_ he died, too. _Gunshot to the chest._

Natasha jerks her head curtly and tilts her chin up, taking an authoritative pose. "What actions are going to be taken to make sure this isn't repeated?"

"Heavier hallway supervision," he says immediately. "An assembly regarding PTSD and how it can affect classmates."

The adults keep droning on about corrective action and repercussions, but Peter can feel himself zoning out, floating away from his grounded spot between his mentors. _PTSD?_ He doesn't have PTSD. That's for soldiers coming back from war and victims of assault and injury. Peter is _Spider-Man_ , and Spider-Man does _not_ have PTSD.

Right?

It seems like he sits there for hours when, in reality, it probably takes about twenty minutes for Natasha and Tony to deal with the formalities and shake hands with Principal Morita before they can leave. Somebody hands Peter his full backpack- had someone been in his locker?- and helps him up from his chair. Vaguely, he can feel Tony's calloused hands on his shoulders, steering him out of the office and into the hallways.

Natasha's heels click against the tiles.

Tony flicks his sunglasses over his eyes.

Students whisper in doorways, watching as a pair of Avengers guide their nerdy classmate out of the school and into an Audi that idles next to the pick-up curb, Happy at the wheel.

He doesn't smile or nod or acknowledge them. Peter just slumps into his seat, bundled up next to Natasha, and closes his eyes.

_Sometimes, it's too much._

⌖

Natasha and Tony don't notice that Peter's fallen asleep until they get stuck at a stoplight in the middle of Manhattan, ask him what he wants to do now that he's out of school (and on a three-day suspension, even though Morita had called it a _break_ ), and don't get an answer. Tony, who's focused almost entirely on an article about how to deal with traumatized children, leaves Natasha to deal with him.

She's better with kids anyway.

_Even though she doesn't act like she likes them._

Natasha immediately moves to prod Peter awake, gently poking the shoulder of his jacket before moving to flicking him on the nose. They're non-threatening movements, because she knows he's in a fragile state of mind and has no interest in dealing with a violent kid while in the conflicts of the back seat of a car. There's no room for error; Peter's at least as strong as Steve and, when he's disoriented, has the potential to cause a small disaster.

No time for disasters today.

"Peter," she coos, furrowing her brow when Peter doesn't even stir. " _Pe-ter_ , wake up."

No response. A quiet snore escapes his lips and his head lolls to one side, bumping up against the window.

"Peter."

Natasha turns to look at Tony, who shrugs and raises an eyebrow. "Just poke him again," he says. "Or stick your finger in his ear, he _hates_ that."

_"Everyone_ hates that," Natasha snaps. She pokes Peter again, this time in the stomach, and gets a quiet sniff in reaction. The boy stirs, reaching up to brush her finger away, and opens a pair of groggy eyes.

"See? Told you," Tony says. He goes back to the article, once again completely enveloped in his phone. 

She wrinkles her nose and nods before smiling at Peter, who's messing with the skin on his knuckle again. "You doing okay? Do you know where you want to go from here?"

The kid nods, craning his neck to see out of the tinted windows, and shrugs. 

Now, Natasha's been on a team of all men for the best part of her life, so she knows that sometimes, the decision just has to be made without consultation. "I don't know" and "I don't care" are her most common answers; sometimes, there's no answer at all and she's simply expected to read their minds and do whatever they want.

The guys are like gorillas sometimes. Or three-year-olds. Three-year-olds is probably more accurate.

But Peter isn't being unresponsive out of disrespect, and he's not focused on something else. The faraway look in his eyes says that he's thinking about something entirely different. The corner of his mouth twitches downward

He has a surprisingly expressive face for someone who constantly puts himself in danger. Natasha suddenly finds herself wondering if that's why he wears the mask- to hide the emotions he can't suppress.

"Ice cream it is," Natasha says curtly, rapping her knuckles on the back of Happy's headrest. "Hogan, how fast can you get us to Dairy Queen?"

Happy turns around in his seat, cursing when the driver of the taxi behind them honks.

"Five minutes, Romanoff."

"Make it three," Tony orders, catching onto Natasha's drift. "And I'll extend your lunch break so you can go see Aunt Hottie."

The car accelerates so fast that its occupants are thrown back in their seats. Happy doesn't seem to care.

⌖

It's only once Peter's holed away in his room at the tower with a strawberry cheesecake blizzard that Natasha and Tony finally take their eyes off of him. They meet up in the communal kitchen, where Tony immediately swears upon realizing that their faucet is stuffed with tens of hundreds of neon-blue pipe cleaners. He blows a labored sigh out through his nose, closes his eyes, and begins to pull them out one by one, cursing to himself the entire time.

"How many are there?" Natasha asks, trying to hide her smirk. "I bet eighty-nine."

Tony snorts.

"Nat, I'm sorry, but you're so incredibly far off," he says, laughing. "Hundreds. So many. _So many."_

They sit in silence as the pile of furry, slightly wet cleaners grows. Natasha flips through pictures on her phone and finds an ever-growing supply of photos including Peter- Peter smiling, Peter laughing, Peter with his aunt and Tony and James Rhodes.

Since when had the kid become so prevalent in her life?

Like he knows what she's thinking, Tony says, "He's quite the kid, that one. Spreads like a _disease_."

Natasha laughs quietly, takes a pipe cleaner, and pokes it at Tony's ear. "You're not wrong. He's good. And everywhere."

"You blink and you've suddenly adopted him. I caught myself reading the nutritional facts on the churros at Kroger yesterday because I know he'll eat them and I don't want him to die at sixteen."

"I haven't looked at a gun in _days_."

"Rhodey hasn't had to check up on me to see if I'm in a panic-filled daze because one of my suits broke."

Natasha looks down at the granite. She picks at her cuticles as Tony plucks the last pipe cleaner from the mouth of the faucet and flicks it across the room, grimacing when it lands in the stainless steel Kitchenaid mixer.

"Pep's gonna love finding that the next time she makes muffins," he says, pursing his lips before sliding into the seat beside hers. "I'm really gonna get it then."

Natasha nods and smiles, tilting her head to one side and trying not to cry, because this is all so _domestic_ and she never thought she would experience it and _God_ , they're like a family. 

Wasn't this what the Red Room had warned her against? Attaching herself to a group of people who aren't her teammates? Tying herself down with a kid?

But aren't Peter and Tony her teammates?

And besides, being close with people doesn't seem as awful as her trainers had made it out to be. It's kind of... nice?

Yeah, families might not be that bad.


End file.
